


together, we can accomplish anything

by daisylincs



Series: Agents of Birthdays [8]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Agents of Birthdays, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Bookshop romance, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gift Fic, Happy Birthday Ellie!!, I now know you would have preferred angst but OH WELL YOU'RE GETTING FLUFF, Kid Skye | Daisy Johnson, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Softness, also shoutout to Kat for the Captain America tribute, and general Maydaisy/Philindaisy adorableness, birthday fic, featuring Bby Daisy, who Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylincs/pseuds/daisylincs
Summary: Bookshop owner and single dad Phil Coulson is having a tough time balancing things - then Melinda May comes into his life, and she might just be the solution to all his problems, one page at a time.
Relationships: Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson & Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Series: Agents of Birthdays [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886911
Comments: 33
Kudos: 97





	together, we can accomplish anything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edgeoflights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgeoflights/gifts).



> Ellie, 
> 
> Happy birthday, love!! Alright, I’m going to admit it, I had my little birthday letter to you typed out here before I properly knew you, and, um, while it was definitely a _nice_ letter, it was also written _before I knew you._ So this morning when I was doing the final edits on the fic, I decided to change it and hopefully make it a lot better.
> 
> Because Ellie, love, while you’ve managed to give me at least three mild heart attacks these last few days on the Discord, you’ve _also_ managed to bring me an incredible amount of smiles - and surprised, happy gasps - with your chatter and art. It’s always such a delight to see your name pop up in the chat box, because at this point I just _know_ that whatever you say or post will make me very happy.
> 
>  _Well._ With the one significant notable exception - because you, love, are _entirely_ valid. Very very _very_ much so!! I’m declaring it in fic format right here and right now, so don’t you _dare_ try to argue with me. This is also your FandomMom™ reminder that once you have finished reading this fic, you _better_ eat something. *puts hands on hips and glares* 
> 
> But back to the question of the hour - you. This is _your_ day, and I really do hope you have the most incredible one - because, goodness gracious, if anyone deserves it, it’s you. I also sincerely hope that you enjoy this fic, which is superbly and at times almost unbearably fluffy (to make up for whatever Kat is going to do to us all in her angst fic, lol.) Best of luck with that, by the way 🤣🤣🤣 (I’m kidding, Kat, I’m looking forward to it just as much as Ellie is, ilyyy) 
> 
> Anyway, let me just say it once again: you, love, are absolutely _amazing,_ and don’t ever let anyone tell you any different. Yes, that includes yourself!! I love you so much, and I will honest-to-goodness get on a plane to the States to come fight you and smother you in love if necessary. So from the bottom of my heart - happy, _happy_ birthday!! 😍😍😍🥳🥳🥳🎂🎂🎂🎉🎉🎉

Melinda May was late. Horribly and unrectifiably late. So late that if she hadn't been the best martial artist the dojo had ever seen, she would have been fired on the spot. 

She muttered a curse under her breath as she glanced at her phone, silently willing the traffic in front of her to move faster. But no. And to think she had still wanted to make a stop at a bookshop this morning! 

Well, in all fairness, there was no way she could have predicted her father slipping and injuring his back, or the worry that came with it - she had wanted to rush over immediately, but then her mother had gotten on the line and told her to finish the day's work first, she was late enough as it was. 

That was certainly true. Melinda tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, groaning when the traffic showed no signs of abating up ahead. 

This was why she always left much earlier in the morning. 

She glanced at her phone again and winced. Best martial artist or no, her job was looking more and more precarious with every moment. 

Biting her lip, she looked around to see if there was any offramp she could possibly take, any shortcut - 

And then her eye caught on a small shopping centre just to the left of the road. Specifically, her eye caught on the little shop called _Shield Books._

What the hell, she was so late already that taking a detour would barely even affect things anymore. 

Not giving herself any more time to agonise it through, she waited for an opening, then pulled smoothly into the little centre, parking right in front of Shield Books. 

She could already feel some of the tension slipping off her shoulders as she stepped into the little bookshop, breathing in the dusty, wonderfully familiar smell of books and pages. 

She turned around her in a slow circle, already feeling a grin tugging at her lips. Oh, yes, this was _exactly_ what she had been talking about - cozy and old-time-y, with soft, dim golden lighting and that slightly surreal feeling that time had wound back fifty years. This was a _proper_ bookshop _,_ not one of those new and frustratingly gleaming ones, where the air was so over-perfumed that you couldn't even smell the books. 

No. This was the real thing. 

Melinda reached out to run a finger lightly along the spine of one of the books, pleased when absolutely no dust came off onto her finger. In fact, the crisp leather binding was so clean and tidy that, if it hadn't been for the obvious yellowing of the pages, she would have guessed that the book was brand new. 

She felt a tap on the side of her leg, and glanced down, surprised. 

A tiny girl in a rainbow tie-dyed t-shirt, no more than four or five years old, stood next to Melinda's knee, looking up at her with sparkling brown eyes. 

"Hi, lady," she said, tapping Melinda's knee again and offering her a bright smile. "Do you like our books?" 

Melinda crouched down so that she was at eye level with the little girl, smiling warmly back at her. "Yes, I do," she said. "They're very lovely." 

The little girl lit up, beaming across at Melinda. "Daddy binds them himself," she told her earnestly; then, in a confidential whisper, "Daddy's very busy all the time." 

"Oh, dear," Melinda sympathised. "That doesn't sound very nice at all." 

The little girl's bright enthusiasm had dimmed somewhat, and Melinda felt instantly guilty. "No," she said sadly. "It isn't very nice." 

The sadness in her brown eyes, which up until a moment ago had been shining with joyous enthusiasm, made Melinda's heart squeeze. 

"Hey," she said, settling back onto her knees and patting the floor next to her. "Why don't you come tell me about your favourite book instead of thinking about that?" 

The little girl brightened instantly. "Really?" she asked, her eyes dancing with excitement. 

Melinda patted the floor next to her legs again, and without another second's pause, the little girl scampered over and plopped down beside her. 

"My favourite book," she told Melinda seriously, "is called Shake, Bake, and Quake." 

Melinda bit her lip to keep back a smile. "Shake, Bake and Quake?" 

The little girl nodded earnestly, her whole body bobbing with the motion. "Yes. It's about three friends who go on an adventure to make the perfect rock cakes." 

Now Melinda was really having to fight that smile, but she managed it. "Really?" she asked, quirking her eyebrows at the little girl. 

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, yes," she said cheerfully. "Shake takes the ingredients and mixes them together, Bake puts them in the oven, and then Quake -" 

But before she could explain exactly what it was that Quake did, a frazzled-looking man came into the shop from the back, his gaze searching the bookshop and filling with relief when he saw the little girl. 

"Daisy, there you are!" he said, rushing over to scoop her into his arms. When he was quite sure she was safe, he wrinkled his brow at her, chastising, "Sweetie, what did we say about coming into the shop on your own?" 

The little girl - Daisy - wriggled in his arms, tapping her feet against his stomach as she thought about it. 

"Not to," she decided at last. 

"That's right," the man agreed, his eyes fond but a little exasperated. "So why are you here, flowerkins?" 

She thought about it for a second, her brow squinching adorably, but then she brightened, wriggling around happily so she could point at Melinda. "I made a friend!" 

The man's eyes widened behind his glasses as his attention shifted from Daisy for the first time, and he realised that they weren't, in fact, alone. 

"Ma'am," he said, looking dismayed as he took a step towards her, shifting Daisy to his hip and offering her his hand. "I'm _so_ sorry about Daisy, she didn't mean any harm or offence -" 

"None taken," Melinda interrupted with a small smile, pulling herself neatly to her feet without his hand. (Daisy gave her a little cheer.) 

The man smiled, quick and wry, and it made his eyes crinkle with little smile lines that hadn't been there before. "I'm very glad to hear that," he said sincerely. "I'm Phil, by the way." 

This time, she did take his offered hand. "Melinda." 

His gaze softened still more, gaining something of that cheerfulness that Daisy's so exuberantly held. "Pleased to meet you," he said, shaking her hand. 

She gave him another quick smile. "Likewise." 

Her hand felt comfortable in his; Melinda realised with a jolt of mild surprise. Comfortable -- like she might not have to pull it away immediately. 

It was an entirely new feeling for her, and she honestly wasn't sure what to do with it. Should she pull away just because she felt like _not_ pulling away? Or should she stay for the exact same reason? 

But before she could get too deep into an existential crisis of any kind, Daisy kicked her legs again, demanding in no uncertain terms to be put back on the floor. 

A flicker of tiredness flashed in Phil's gaze, but there was only tender kindness as he put his daughter gently down. "There you go, flowerkins," he said, and the sheer _love_ with which he used the nickname was enough to melt Melinda's heart. 

Daisy, for her part, gave her father's leg a quick hug, then scampered off to disappear into the bookshelves. 

"Not too far, Dais," Phil reminded her, and Daisy answered with a muffled something that _could_ have been a yes but was more likely something about finding a new book. 

Phil shook his head fondly, his gaze soft as he looked in the direction she had gone. Melinda joined him, barely even having to think about it as she followed his gaze to the place where Daisy had disappeared into the bookshelves. 

"She's quite the character, that one," she remarked, a little smile quirking her lips when she saw a hint of rainbow tie-dye through the gap between two bookshelves. 

Phil started, his eyes widening and flickering with guilt as he realised that he had basically been ignoring a potential customer for however long. "Uh, yeah," he said with a rueful laugh. "She's definitely a handful." His blue eyes were soft behind his glasses as they saw a flash of rainbow tie-dye again. "But she's the best." 

"That I can believe," Melinda agreed, feeling an uncharacteristic warmth spread through her chest as Daisy's happy laugh rang through the bookshop. 

She could just _see_ the sparkle in the little girl's eyes, the brightness of her smile. She could just _see_ it - and it made something soft and warm deep inside of her unfold slowly, tentatively, reach out cautious shoots. 

Phil was shaking his head fondly, and the movement tugged Melinda back into reality. "Yeah," he said wryly. Then he turned to her, his blue eyes alert and interested behind his glasses. "But, uh, what can I do for you?” 

Melinda hesitated, considering. Phil’s smile was kind, and so were his eyes, but she could see tiredness in their blue depths. And she remembered Daisy saying that he bound all the books himself, and going by how spotless the whole place was, he also clearly did a lot of maintenance. 

And if he owned the place too… yeah, that was an _incredible_ amount of work on his shoulders. 

“If you’re busy, I don’t want to impose,” she said, holding up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “No, _seriously,_ Phil. It can’t be easy to own a bookshelf and raise a daughter at the same time.” 

He sighed ruefully, pushing his glasses properly onto his nose. “No, you’re right, it’s definitely not easy,” he said. “We just opened a month or so ago, too, so it’s really stressful to stay on top of all the paperwork and loans, _and_ -” he paused for a breath, “I wasn’t sure if the aesthetic I chose would even appeal to anyone.” 

He seemed to jolt awake a second later, and half-tilted his head sideways to give her a wry smile. “Not that you wanted to hear any of that, I’m so sorry,” he said. “God, you really haven’t had the best service here today, have you?” 

Melinda shook her head firmly, taking half a step closer to him so she could hold his gaze. “ _No,”_ she said in the express don’t-you-dare-argue-with-me tone she had learned from her mother. “Don’t apologise! You’re under a lot of stress, and I _asked.”_

She didn’t add that in normal circumstances, she would never have even _considered_ asking, and would certainly have been annoyed by the overload of personal information - but Phil was different. She couldn’t put her finger on what _made_ him different, but he _was._

“Still -” he began, but Melinda cut across him. 

“For the record, I _love_ the aesthetic of the place,” she told him. “Many modern bookshops just feel… forced. Like they’re trying to take away the magic of it, and make it _sterile.”_

Phil’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “I’m so glad you agree!” he said enthusiastically. “Many of those modern places try so hard to make it _better_ that they lose what makes bookshops _special._ And I didn’t want that, you know? I wanted to keep the _magic_ of it, if that makes sense.” 

“It makes perfect sense,” Melinda agreed, her chest filling with a pleasant warmth to have met someone who _got_ it. 

Phil smiled at her, his eyes crinkling with smile lines, and she could tell he felt the warmth too. 

It was… nice. 

New, but _nice_.

Very much so. 

After a long, warm moment, which, surprisingly enough, wasn’t awkward at all, Phil cleared his throat. “In all seriousness, though,” he said, “I’m sure you didn’t just come here for the aesthetic. Is there something specific I can help you find?” 

“Actually, yes,” Melinda said, relenting because (a) she could tell he genuinely wanted to help her and (b) what were the chances she would find the book she was looking for on her own? “You wouldn’t happen to have any copies of _The Book of Five Rings_ by Miyamoto Musashi?” 

Phil snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up. “Yes, we do, actually,” he said, motioning for her to follow him as he led the way towards the far left section of the bookshop. 

Melinda followed with quick, light steps, her gaze flicking around the bookshop with mild interest but, for the most part, keeping straight ahead. 

She _had_ to stop when they passed an entire _three shelves_ painted red and blue, though. 

"Captain America biographies?" she asked, raising one eyebrow at Phil, who had stopped at around the same time she had, wincing. 

He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "What can I say? It's _Captain America."_

Melinda shook her head, rolling her eyes, but there was a little smile tugging at her lips. Of _course_ Phil was the kind of person who would have an entire section of his bookshop dedicated to Captain America biographies, of _course._ It just _fit,_ somehow. 

_Nerdy but in an adorable way,_ her brain supplied, completely unhelpfully. 

She rolled her eyes at herself this time and followed Phil to the very back of the bookshelf, where he stopped in front of a particularly tall bookshelf, tapping one finger against his lips before reaching in and drawing out a book, a triumphant smile on his lips. 

"Here you go," he said, handing it to her with a smile that, Melinda thought, made his blue eyes light up _far_ too attractively. 

"Thanks," she said, offering him a tiny smile in return and stoically ignoring her brain. 

His smile was warm. "Glad I could help," he said, his fingers just-just brushing her arm as he moved past her back to the counter. Melinda had the irrational urge to shiver at the small contact, and _very_ decisively suppressed said urge. 

What was _wrong_ with her brain today, dammit? 

"Great choice, by the way,” Phil told her as they reached the counter again, stepping behind the till and smiling as he tapped in the book's name on his computer.

Melinda smiled, glad for the distraction. “Thanks. I’ve been meaning to get it for a while now, but I just haven’t had the time.” She let her smile turn wry. “My work keeps me very busy.” 

Phil glanced up, his gaze interested. “Really? What do you do?” 

“Well, I’m a martial artist,” she explained, wondering how to say the next part without coming across as smug or conceited. _God,_ Melinda hated people whose only concern was the name of the dojo they taught at, and how much stardom it might bring them. 

But she wasn't that kind of person and, besides, she was nothing if not direct, so out with it it was. “I teach at The Widow's,” she said matter-of-factly. 

Phil’s eyes turned huge, and he stopped typing completely to gape at her. _“The Widow’s?”_

Alright, given the lineup of Captain America biographies, that reaction shouldn't surprise her. “Yeah,” Melinda said with a wry smile. “Though not the main branch - we call it The Playground. Nat drops in every other month to see how things are doing, but on the whole, I run all the classes.” 

_“Whoa,”_ Phil said with no small amount of awe, shaking his head slowly and apparently forgetting completely about his typing. “You know Natasha Romanoff!” 

Melinda half-smiled, half-smirked. “I actually helped her found The Widow.” 

“No _way,”_ he breathed, dropping his hands onto the keyboard in an ungraceful smash and looking at her with complete awe. “You’re a hero!” 

She snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far. Besides, if anyone’s the hero, it’s you - raising a daughter _and_ opening a bookshop.” 

Phil’s gaze softened. "I do my best," he said. Meeting her gaze with frank blue eyes, he admitted, "it's not easy, especially not on my own. But I do." 

She could believe that, completely and utterly. 

She could also really, really believe that it wasn't easy. 

Which did beg the question… 

Well, she hadn't wanted to ask, but at this point she felt like she _had_ to. 

“I’m sorry to pry,” she said awkwardly, “but Daisy’s mother, is she…?” 

“Yeah,” Phil said with a quick nod and a sad smile. He cleared his throat, dropping his gaze for a second before glancing back up at her. “Her father, too.” 

Melinda blinked, feeling as though the proverbial rug had been well and truly swept out from under her feet. “I… excuse me?” 

Phil almost smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I understand your confusion,” he said, leaning his elbows on the countertop. “But, yeah, both Daisy’s parents are dead. It was a car crash late one night when they were coming back from a prestigious medical convention.” 

He sighed, looking past her to try and locate Daisy in the mass of bookshelves in the little shop. “I didn’t know the Johnsons very well, but I babysat Daisy for them on occasion. And I guess she just… well, after their deaths, she retreated into herself completely. Wouldn’t talk to anyone, and wouldn’t even eat properly.” 

Melinda had turned around as well, searching for a flash of rainbow tie-dye among the bookshelves, and feeling her heart clench at the thought that someone so young had already been through so much.

Phil was speaking again, and she turned her gaze back to him, but her mind was still on Daisy, her heart going out to the little girl. 

“When I heard, I went over to try and see if I could do something, _anything,”_ he explained, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. "I mean, how could I _not?_ This girl had just lost both her parents at _three,_ and been told about it by the _state."_

Melinda felt a prick of something icy creep up her spine. She had had her experiences with the state's apathy and, at times, undisguised racism, and she didn't even want to _begin_ imagining what it had to have been like at _three_. 

As though sensing the direction of her thoughts, Phil nodded, his gaze serious. "Yeah, I barely got her out of the system in time. And for some reason, she… opened up to me." He shook his head, his blue gaze a little awed and incredulous."I still don’t know why, but for whatever reason, she decided to let me in.” 

He was looking over her shoulder and into the bookshelves again, his gaze so unbearably soft and tender that Melinda felt her heart squeeze even more. 

And looking at him, at the gentle blue eyes and the _love_ that poured out of every fibre of his being… she thought she could see why Daisy had let him in.

“That’s a beautiful story,” she said, and really, it was - Melinda didn’t think words from someone who was basically a stranger had ever touched her this deeply before. 

Phil gave her a small half-smile, his blue eyes soft. “I’m glad you think so.” 

Then he turned his gaze back to the task at hand (scanning and wrapping her book) - but Melinda’s mind was still racing, running through situations and their meanings. 

Phil had adopted Daisy even though _nothing_ had obliged him to, and it was clear that he thought of her as a daughter - _and_ that she wholeheartedly returned the sentiment. Furthermore, all of this must have happened _while Phil was in the process of buying and setting up a bookshop,_ so not _only_ had he adopted her, but he had also set up an entire business _and_ still managed to become a father she loved like her own.

It was genuinely one of the most incredible things Melinda had ever seen.

And she thought, _I have to come back here._

Maybe it was the sparkle in Daisy’s eyes, or the brightness of her laugh. Maybe it was the kindness in Phil’s blue eyes, and the way his smile sent little tingles tickling up her spine. Maybe it was them _both._

But for whatever reason, she knew with an unshakeable kind of certainty that she wanted to get to know these people more; _properly._

She took a quick breath, feeling her mind sharpen with decisiveness. _So I will._

//

It was a universally known fact to everyone that knew her that Melinda May hated coffee. Detested it. _Despised_ it. 

And yet here she was, a giant disposable cup of the stuff warming her hands as she stood on the doorstep of _Shield Books,_ biting her lip in a completely uncharacteristic display of nervousness as she considered what to say. 

_"Hi, yeah, it's me, I thought you looked stressed so I brought you a coffee?"_ Ha. Yeah. Maybe Nat could pull that one off, but not her. 

What was coffee etiquette, anyway? She never drank the stuff, how was _she_ supposed to know? 

As it turned out, she was saved from a mini existential crisis by the door flying open and a blur of rainbow tie-dye barreling out and straight into her legs. 

"I TOLD YOU!" Daisy shouted, absolutely delighted as she threw her arms around Melinda's knee. "I TOLD YOU I SAW MY FRIEND!" 

_"Daisy,"_ came Phil's voice, exasperated and more than a little tired, from the interior of the bookshop. "You come back in here this instant -" 

But Daisy ignored him completely, tilting her head up to look at Melinda with shining brown eyes. _"Friend,"_ she said, her smile _radiant_ as she clung to Melinda's knee, looking up at her with undisguised adoration. "You are my friend, right?" 

"Of _course_ I'm your friend," Melinda agreed, feeling as though her entire _being_ had softened as she bent down to the little girl's level, smiling warmly at her. 

Squealing, Daisy threw her arms around Melinda, letting go of her knee in favour of pressing her little body tight against Melinda's chest. 

For a moment, Melinda was completely frozen, her brain stuck on _what on earth am I supposed to do?_ But then, slowly, her muscles relaxed and, as though her body didn't even need to think about it, she pulled Daisy close, tucking her in so that the little girl was settled more comfortably against her chest. 

Daisy made a happy little humming sound, burrowing deeper into Melinda's jacket before pulling back with a surprised gasp. 

"Hot," she told Melinda, her brow squinching in confusion. 

Melinda started, for a half-panicked moment wondering if Daisy had somehow managed to burn herself on something, but relaxing as she remembered the coffee that she still held in her left hand. 

"Oh, yeah, sweetie," she said, carefully extricating her arm from the little girl's embrace and showing her the portable cup. "It's coffee, see? For your daddy."

Daisy's eyes flew wide. _"Really?"_ she breathed. 

"Well, yeah," Melinda said, already thinking, _shit,_ I screwed up, he doesn't even - 

"Daddy _loves_ coffee," Daisy said reverentially, eyeing the cup with awed brown eyes. "He says it's the only thing that keeps him -" she paused, her brow furrowing as she searched for the word, and her eyes lighting up when she found it - _"sane."_

Melinda chuckled, the stab of fear in her chest fading away completely beneath a flood of warmth. "A lot of people say that, yeah," she agreed, brushing a soft brown curl behind Daisy's ear. 

Daisy nodded, then looked furtively around them before leaning in close to whisper in Melinda's ear, "but not me." 

"Daddy let me try a sip of his coffee one night," she told Melinda confidingly, looking up at her with earnest brown eyes. "But I didn't like it at all. It was _yucky."_

Her nose squinched adorably as she remembered, and Melinda had to fight the urge to pull her into another tight hug. 

Unbelievable _._ She neverjust _wanted_ to hug people, _never._

But the way Daisy was looking up at her, all bright eyes and adorably earnest confidence… well, damn if it wasn't the sweetest thing Melinda had ever seen. 

"You know what, I agree completely," she told the little girl, for once in her life quite unable to keep from grinning uncontrollably. 

Daisy gasped. "You don't like coffee _either?"_

She sounded so stunned, and when Melinda shook her head, still trying to fight that smile, she clapped her hands together with a shriek of joy. 

"You're my _best_ friend," she declared, jumping up and tugging at Melinda's hand. "Come on, come on, we _have_ to tell Daddy this." 

Melinda let herself be pulled into the coffee shop, keeping the cup of coffee steady in one hand and fighting a losing battle with her smile. 

Phil, who looked like he had been just about to come out and collect Daisy himself, relaxed tremendously at the sight of her. "Oh, hi again," he said, his eyes going immediately to the coffee in her hand. "Is that for me?" 

"Uh, yeah," Melinda said, just a little awkwardly, but once again Daisy saved the situation before it had any chance of _really_ getting uncomfortable. 

"Daddy, my best friend says she doesn't really like coffee either," she informed him, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in her excitement to share this tremendous news. 

Phil, who had been just about to take the coffee from Melinda, pulled away with a scandalised gasp. "Is this true?" he asked, pretending to be betrayed. 

Daisy clapped her hands, giggling delightedly. "Yes yes yes!" 

"What can I say?" Melinda asked, raising her shoulders. "She has a point. Coffee is _yucky."_

Phil pressed a hand against his heart and pretended to faint, much to Daisy's delight. "There, Daddy, you _see,"_ she said triumphantly. 

Phil shook his head dramatically. "No, flowerkins, I _don't_ see. Look, my eyes are closed." 

"They should be," Daisy said severely. "You like _coffee."_

And before Melinda had really caught up to what was happening, she was tugging at her hand, pulling her deeper into the bookshop. "Come on, friend," she said. "Leave Daddy and his yucky coffee, let's go find Shake, Bake and Quake." 

Phil had opened his eyes again, stretching out one hand to his daughter. "Daisy -" 

But Melinda gave him a tiny shake of her head, hoping to tell him without words, _no, it's okay. Have your coffee and a moment of peace, I'll stay with her for a while._

Judging by the way Phil's blue eyes widened, then turned completely soft and grateful, he got the message. Pressing his fingers against his brow, he gave her a three-finger salute, picking up the cup of coffee with that smile that made her stomach do funny flip-flopping things. 

Daisy's hand was in hers, though, anchoring her firmly in reality and tugging her insistently further into the bookshop. Melinda gave Phil a tiny smile over her shoulder, her silent return of the salute, then let herself be dragged into Daisy's favourite corner of the bookshop. 

//

And as time passed, that became a tradition of theirs. Melinda would go to Shield Books in her free hour, bringing along a disposable cup of coffee for Phil (which Daisy never failed to mock before the two of them found their way to Daisy's corner of the little shop.) 

There was a large, squashy armchair tucked between two bookshelves there, and it might as well have had Melinda's name painted on it going by the sheer amount of times she had sat down there, Daisy on her lap and chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen about whatever book Phil had gotten in for her to read that week. 

Sometimes they'd read the book together, or sometimes Daisy would ask Melinda to make up a story herself - which she did, telling her all about the dojo, and Nat, and Clint. 

But no matter what the book or story, one thing was always the same: Daisy's warm little body snuggled up on Melinda's lap. 

And no matter _what,_ it felt comfortable, like this was where her life had been _supposed_ to lead her all along. 

She was a martial artist, yes, but with Daisy she had the chance to be… a mother, too. 

And that was something Melinda had long ago given up on ever being, right about when her last serious relationship had crashed and burned around her ears. 

_You chose martial arts over a_ life, _Melinda,_ she remembered Andrew telling her bitterly. _Over a_ home.

She had. It was a choice she still tortured herself over - because had she really given up the chance to be a _mother,_ a lifelong dream of hers, to help Nat set up The Widow? 

What kind of person did that make her? Certainly not a _mother._

Yet here she was now, a bright-eyed five-year-old tucked up on her lap, and the feeling that nothing could ever go wrong in the world, not like this. 

Phil would occasionally stop by and watch them, a small smile tugging at his lips, and something immeasurably soft in his blue eyes. Whenever he saw her looking back, Phil would give her a tiny nod, his smile softening into something special, just for her. 

Melinda was certain her gaze was just as soft as she nodded back, a matching smile tugging at her lips. 

And that would have been good enough for her, _more_ than good enough. More than she had ever dared dream for since that fateful day she had chosen The Widow over Andrew, really. 

But one day, what had to be nearly five months after she had first stepped into Shield Books, Phil came up to her as she was about to leave, catching her arm gently in his. 

"You've been such a big help to me these last few months," he said, his gaze sincere and his hand on her shoulder sending tingles shooting through her arm. "And to Daisy, too. What you've done for the both of us is… honestly incredible." 

"It's thanks to you that I was able to do it in the first place," she argued, gently but firmly. "You, and Daisy. She's an incredibly special little girl, that one."

"She is," Phil agreed, his gaze softening the way it always did when he was talking about Daisy. "And, um… I think she might really like it if you came over for dinner once." 

Melinda had looked at him, her mouth half-falling open, completely and utterly stunned. 

But then she thought of Daisy, of her bright smile and the sparkle in her brown eyes, and… 

"I'm in," she said, shooting Phil a small smile. "When and where?" 

And soon, _once or twice_ became _every week,_ and then _every night._

Dinner with Phil and Daisy was always something truly special. They always had dinner at the big oak table in Phil's dining room, settled back in homey wooden chairs and eating by the flickering glow of the candles Phil always put on the table. Meals were always accompanied by enthusiastic accounts of Daisy's day at school, and, of course, a healthy amount of conversation centered around _books._

And once the plates and cutlery had been cleared and packed in the washer, and Daisy tucked in bed upstairs, Phil and Melinda could talk for _hours_ in the kitchen, leaning up against the counters and laughing deep into the wee hours of the night. 

They just had _so_ much in common, the two of them - and the things they _didn't_ share made for the most endlessly fascinating conversations. She could talk to him for _hours,_ and never get bored for a single minute - which, considering she was _Melinda May,_ meant a _huge_ amount. 

There was just something _about_ Phil, something about the way he smiled and his whole face lit up, that made her feel incredibly at ease. 

Yes, that was it. _At ease._

She felt completely, utterly, and entirely at ease here, like this was a place she could always belong. 

If she closed her eyes and didn't think about it for too long, she could just see herself living here for the rest of her life, laughing with Phil and watching Daisy grow. 

It wasn’t the life she had once imagined for herself, _or_ the life she had once given up, but… this could be a home. She could be a part of it. 

… In her mind, of course. No way would she ever _really_ belong to this family. 

" - Melinda?" Phil's voice cut into her thoughts, bringing her back from her slightly melancholic train of thought. "Are you alright? You look… pensive."

"That's a good word for it," she said, offering him a small smile. "But don't worry about it, I'm fine." 

"Hmmm." She could tell he didn't believe her, but she could _also_ tell he wasn't going to push her. It was one of the things she liked most about Phil - he didn't push. Ever. 

But then again, he didn't need to. He was just one of those people you could tell _anything_ to without feeling the slightest bit pressured or guilty. 

Simply put, he was the best. 

And, alright, _fine,_ maybe she was getting a little nostalgic, but could you even really blame her when Phil was looking at her like _that?_

"What is it?" she asked, nudging him gently with her hip. _"You_ look pensive now." 

Phil shook his head, smiling ruefully. "It's nothing." 

She nodded, settling back a bit more comfortably against the counter and completely prepared to let it go - 

"Actually, Melinda," Phil interrupted, turning to face her with a combination of nerves and excitement in his gaze. "I've been thinking." 

"Hmmm?" she hummed, to let him know she was listening. 

He kept his gaze locked on hers, and Melinda was usually very attuned to whatever he was doing, but right now it was impossible to look away. Phil's gaze was _electric,_ for lack of a better word.

"I've been thinking," he repeated, almost unconsciously shifting a step closer, into her space. "Daisy likes you - _really_ likes you. And you've been the most tremendous help watching her do I can try and keep the bookshop running." 

"It's been a pleasure," she said, unconsciously matching his stance and leaning a little closer to him. 

Phil nodded, and his blue eyes were so _warm_ , so full of compassion and caring as he looked down at her. "For us, too," he said. 

And Melinda didn't know what it was, exactly, but the air suddenly seemed… charged, like there was something very important just _waiting_ to happen. 

She was also suddenly and acutely aware of how _close_ she and Phil had gotten, her mind unhelpfully replaying a good eight months' worth of gentle touches and shared laughter, soft brushes of skin and smiles that had set her whole body a-tingle. 

She wetted her lips, wanting to look down but making herself keep her gaze on Phil's. "Yeah," she said softly. 

Phil nodded, and he shifted even closer, Melinda's heart-rate shooting up as he reached out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek for just a second too long, warm and almost painfully tender. 

"I was wondering," he said, his voice softer than it had been before, but somehow more urgent, "if you might want to… stay." 

Melinda shook her head slowly, sure she had to be hearing him wrong. "Stay?"

"Yeah," he said, the hint of nerves flashing in his blue eyes again. "For… for Daisy, of course. She could, um, she could use someone like you." 

His eyes were still fixed on hers, and she could _swear_ she saw something else in their blue depths, something he couldn't quite bring himself to say. 

And in a flash, she knew what it was.

_I want you to stay._

He - _he -_ wanted her to stay, to become a part of this home, properly. He wanted her to be able to be there for Daisy, all day, every day. 

But he also wanted her to be there for _him._

He might not be saying it, but she could see it in his eyes, see it in the way he hadn't tried to shift so much as a step away as she processed it all. 

He wanted this idea of a family just as much as she did. It had never just been inside her head - _he wanted it too._

She looked slowly up at him, feeling as though she could take on the entire world with the weight of that knowledge. (Hey, she probably could. She was _Melinda May.)_

"I think," she started, lifting her hands to tap lightly against his chest, "I think you might just be able to persuade me to stay." 

Phil's breathing had hitched as she placed her hands on his chest, and his heartbeat was erratic under her palm, but he didn't move to pull away. "Oh yeah?" he asked, softly. 

"Yeah," Melinda said, flattening her palms deliberately against his shirt. "But I wouldn't be staying just for Daisy." 

Phil's gaze was steady, but she had come to know him well enough by now that she recognised the spark of fierce joy deep within their blue depths. "Is that right?" he asked carefully, and Melinda didn't miss the way he glanced down at her lips. 

She let her gaze flick down to _his_ lips very deliberately before glancing back up to meet his gaze with something of a challenge in her eyes. "Yeah," she said, nodding once, decisively. 

If she didn't know him so well, she wouldn't have been prepared, but as it was, when he _finally_ moved forward to kiss her, Melinda was more than ready to meet him. 

Her entire body _sang_ as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. _Finally._ Oh, freaking _finally._ She had waited _eight months_ for this, eight months of teasing and playful smiles and desperately trying to suppress giddy tingles. 

But, boy, had it ever been worth it! 

Melinda _melted_ into Phil's kiss, every part of her humming with happiness as he pulled his arms a little tighter around her waist, nudging her back half a step so she was pressed against the counter. 

She was just about to hook her leg around his waist when she heard it: a small, delighted cry of happiness, quickly muffled as though Daisy had clapped her hand over her mouth. 

Melinda could feel her cheeks blazing as she and Phil shot apart, and she found herself wishing very heartily that the wooden floorboards would crack apart and swallow her up.

 _"Daisy,"_ Phil called from beside her, sounding completely exasperated but, she thought, more than a little fond. "You were supposed to be in bed!" 

Daisy emerged sheepishly from around the corner, ducking her head and studying her fuzzy pink slippers intently. 

"Daisy," Phil said sternly when she had reached the middle of the kitchen and _still_ hadn't looked up. 

She glanced up then, shooting Melinda a guilty look before turning to her father. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said sincerely. "But I had to make sure you actually did it." 

Melinda could have choked on air. "Wh..wh.. _what?"_ she spluttered. "You _planned_ this?" 

Phil groaned out loud. _"No,_ we -" 

"Yes," Daisy said earnestly, her brown eyes sparkling with just a hint of mischief through the guilt. "We planned for Daddy to ask you to stay, though we _didn't_ plan the kissy-kissy."

Phil had gone so red at this point that he was comparable to his beloved car, which, Melinda thought dryly, she would have to tell him later. 

_Later._ There was a _later._

The thought made her whole chest suffuse with warmth and a tingly, golden kind of feeling she could only describe as pure happiness.

But Daisy wasn't done yet. She leaned forward, her tone becoming confidential as she told Melinda, "We didn't plan the kissy-kissy, but I was kind of hoping that would happen." 

Melinda's jaw dropped, and Phil looked like he might spontaneously combust. _"Daisy!"._

"What? It's _true,"_ Daisy said innocently, looking from Melinda to Phil to back to Melinda. "You two make each other and me," she paused for a moment as she searched for the right word, then offered them both a dazzling smile as she found it: _"family."_

Melinda turned and pressed her face into Phil's shoulder, but she couldn't have stopped her smile if she had tried. 

She really had found her home. 

_**The End.** _


End file.
